


The Witching Hour

by Skyrider45



Category: Riverdale (TV 2017)
Genre: And maybe one has magic, Both humorous and dramatic, But it's serious too, But the past is literally haunting them, F/F, F/M, Fantasy, Friendship/Trust, Halloween AU, Halloween has come to Riverdale, Hocus Pocus - Freeform, I haven't decided yet, Just a normal Halloween in Riverdale, Lots of Halloween and magic puns, Magic, Probably a little Harry Potter vibes too, Read if you want to find out, Supernatural - Freeform, The core four become Ghostbusters, Trying to move on, Witches, dealing with grief, don't cross the streams, ghostbusters - Freeform, just for fun
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-10-27
Updated: 2020-11-18
Packaged: 2021-03-08 20:08:12
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 3
Words: 9,608
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27232504
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Skyrider45/pseuds/Skyrider45
Summary: Halloween has come to Riverdale as the gang prepares for Cheryl's annual costume party. As the darkest of nights draws closer and a new resident moves to town, Betty and the others begin to notice strange going-ons that can't be explained. Are these just remnants of anxiety and mistrust leftover from recent events, or have they stumbled upon something more sinister, more supernatural?Halloween somewhat AU. Wanted to write something fun and short for Halloween. And I love magic and the supernatural.
Relationships: Alice Cooper & Betty Cooper, Archie Andrews & Betty Cooper, Archie Andrews & Betty Cooper & Jughead Jones & Veronica Lodge, Archie Andrews & Fred Andrews, Archie Andrews & Jughead Jones, Archie Andrews & Veronica Lodge, Archie Andrews/Veronica Lodge, Betty Cooper & Hal Cooper, Betty Cooper & Jughead Jones, Betty Cooper & Kevin Keller, Betty Cooper & Veronica Lodge, Betty Cooper/Jughead Jones, Cheryl Blossom & Betty Cooper, Cheryl Blossom & Veronica Lodge, Cheryl Blossom/Toni Topaz, Jughead Jones & Veronica Lodge
Comments: 3
Kudos: 6





	1. Something Wicked This Way Comes

**Author's Note:**

> Welcome everyone! Halloween season is upon us (for those who celebrate) and I've been sitting on the idea of a little Halloween Riverdale story.
> 
> This idea originally came out of joke made in Chapter 12 of my other Riverdale story, "Forty Days in the Wilderness" that I'm working on. The gang were making jokes about being Ghostbusters and well, my imagination just kind of went with it and I finally decided to write a short story based on what if the gang actually stumbled into something supernatural?
> 
> While this was originally intended as a solely Ghostbusters parody, the story did what it does best and grew into something else. So this is Ghostbusters, Hocus Pocus, Harry Potter, any other Halloween/witchcraft/folklore movie and/or book you can think of - inspired.
> 
> I wanted to write something smaller and fun and more carefree to try to get me out of a writing slump. So jump in on if you look fantasy, Halloween, comedy, or spooky, because this has all that!

“No. No way.”

“What? Come on, Jug.” Archie bounced up from the couch, walking to stand in front of the drum case his friend was lounging behind. “Two guys, two girls, you already eat all the time. Plus, we have Vegas!” The redhead stooped down to pet the dog laying on a cushion in the middle of the refurbished garage.

“There’s no way we’re going as the Scooby gang to Cheryl’s Halloween party.” Jughead remained resolute on his stance, twirling a drumstick in his hand.

“Surprisingly I’m with Jughead on this one,” Veronica piped up, overtaking the whole couch now that Archie had moved. “We’re seniors and you want to go as cartoon characters? No thanks.”

“I don’t know, it’s the best idea we’ve had so far.” Betty joined in the conversation, swiveling back and forth in the recliner. She had been staring at the ceiling but turned her head to look around at everyone. “It’s much better than the Ninja Turtles idea.”

“Very true.” Veronica pointed a finger at Betty. “Whose idea was it to do a group costume again?”

Everyone, even Vegas, turned their heads to look at Archie.

“Hey, this is our last Halloween in high school while we’re all still together! I wanted to do something special. I thought it’d be fun.” He plopped down on the arm of the couch. “So I’m guessing it’s a no on Mystery Inc.?”

“No.” The resounding answer reverberated through the garage.

“Fine.” Archie hung his head and when he spoke again, there was a soft ache to it. “I just, you know, wanted to be Fred.”

The three friends grew quiet and looked uneasily at each other. Jughead placed the drumstick gently down on the kit and slowly got up. “Well, this has been a good start, but I think we need a break.”

“I second that.” Veronica lifted herself back into a sitting position on the couch. “We’ve still got time before the party to think of something.”

“The party’s tomorrow night.” Archie puffed, sticking his hands in his hoodie pockets, giving Veronica a skeptical look.

“Precisely!” Veronica smiled at him. “That means we still have 24 hours to come up with the perfect costume idea. I’m sure inspiration will strike us when we least expect it.” 

Jughead walked toward Archie and slapped a hand on his shoulder. “Hey, I need to pick up a part for my bike at Junkyard Steve’s before he closes up, want to come with?”

Archie looked up at his friend and sighed, slowly bouncing to his feet. “Sure. Why not.”

“While you guys go do that, Veronica and I will grab something for dinner. How does pizza sound?” Betty rose from the recliner.

“Amazing,” Jughead replied, pulling his head out of the fridge in the corner, a pop can in hand. “I’m starving.”

“We’ll meet back here in an hour,” Betty declared, grabbing her jacket and heading toward the door, Veronica right behind her.

Jughead gave her a thumbs up, a small hiss emanating into the room as he cracked open the pop can, foam running over the top.

“See?” Archie spread his arms, indicating at Jughead as he lifted the can to his lips. “The Scooby idea was perfect.”

“Yeah, sure," Jughead smirked, pushing Archie in the back, leading him out of the garage and into the cool autumn air. “Come on.”

* * *

Archie and Jughead trudged up the sidewalk, red and golden-leafed trees swaying in the gentle evening breeze above them. Archie had his hands shoved deep into his pockets, walking with his head down. He kicked at a small pile of fallen leaves, listening to the satisfying _crunch_ as they crackled apart under his feet.

He turned toward Jughead. “Hey, thanks back there.”

“No problem, man.” Jughead patted the bottom of his pop can, sprinkling the last few drops of the drink into his mouth before depositing the can into a nearby trash bin and turning toward his friend. “I know it still hurts.”

Archie kicked through another pile of leaves. “You’d think it would stop after so long.”

“It’s only been five months.” Jughead patted him on the back of the shoulder, his face sympathetic. “That’s not something you just get over.”

“I know,” Archie scrunched his forehead. “But I just feel like I should be… somewhere by now, you know? That I should feel better.”

Jughead stared at Archie as he lowered his head back down toward the sidewalk. He thought for a few moments, turning his own eyes forward, and said, "I know it's not the same, but when my mom left, it took me a long time to not think about it, to not feel it so personally. But eventually, the pain faded.”

“How’d you get it to go away?”

“Time.” Jughead nodded slowly, his hands now going to his pockets. “Leaning on other family and friends.” He grinned, bumping his shoulder into Archie’s, who’s mouth turned up into a faint smile as they continued walking. “And I was able to talk to my mom about it too, over the years. That’s helped me to let it go, to move on with my own life.”

Archie swallowed as they rounded the corner, coming up alongside a black metal fence that extended the length of the sidewalk. A cold breeze rippled along the way, swirling a pile of the dead leaves around the boys.

“Thanks, Jug.” Archie pulled his jacket a bit tighter and stopped, walking over to the fence and leaning an arm over it. “But I’m not sure all of that will help in my case.” He looked out solemnly over the quiet cemetery stretching out beyond the fence. “Death doesn’t exactly let me talk to my dad.”

Jughead walked up beside him. Archie sighed, “I don’t know how to let it go.” His eyes drifted to a far corner of headstones. “I’m not sure I want to let him go yet.”

* * *

The late evening sun was beginning to dip behind the distant mountains, its red and orange light streaming down on Betty and Veronica as they walked the red-brick path of downtown’s main street.

The golden haze lingered over the hay bales, pumpkins, and straw stalk decorations that so commonly characterized lampposts and storefronts in small towns in the fall, Riverdale being no exception. Betty and Veronica strolled past these decorations as they headed in the direction of the pizza shop.

“Do you think Archie will be alright?” Veronica asked, toying with the handle on her purse. “He had that far-away look in his eyes again.”

“He’ll be okay.” Betty nodded back. “Talking about his dad is still a touchy subject.”

“I thought he was doing better. He’s been really happy ever since school started.”

“Grief is complicated.” Betty stepped out of the way of a few passersby heading in the opposite direction. “It can come in waves.”

The girls’ hair gently blew around their shoulders as a small gust of wind blustered down the street. “This is his first holiday without his dad, so I bet it’s on his mind more than usual.” Veronica shivered, the temperature dropping as the sun continued its descent. “I can’t imagine what that feels like.”

Betty’s steps began to slow next to her, eventually coming to a full stop. When Veronica looked up, she found Betty had turned away and was now staring out at something across the street, a somber grimace etched across her face.

“I can,” she said in a voice just above a whisper.

Veronica paused and craned her neck, trying to see what Betty was looking at. She frowned, her stomach dropping when she realized what it was: a small, boarded-up storefront across the street, the faded red letters spelling out “The Riverdale Register” still visible against the sheen of the street lamps flickering to life.

“Oh, B, I’m so sorry,” Veronica said, placing a hand on her friend’s shoulder, attempting to steer her forward once more. “After everything this year I sometimes forget that you lost your dad, too.”

Betty kept her eyes on the building for a few more seconds before finally walking again. She breathed a heavy sigh, shaking her head slightly as she turned her gaze back to the sidewalk ahead of her.

“I keep trying to forget, but it feels like life just won’t let me.”

xxxx

The girls continued down the main street of Riverdale, a lighthearted banter about Halloween candy and pizza toppings now taking place of the more morose conversation.

All of the lamplights running the length of the street were blinking awake, their orange glow throwing crisscrossing muddled shadows around the area. A few of the straw scarecrows attached to the lampposts shook forcefully, the tinny shudder of the rustling stalks echoing through the dark as another sudden burst of wind swirled around the people walking about the small town.

“Geez,” Betty zipped up her jacket even higher, watching others on the street do the same before plunging her hands into her pockets. “Where did this wind come from? It feels like we just stepped into a freezer.”

“I know, right?” Veronica had noticed it getting colder a bit earlier. She glanced at her watch. “And it’s only a little after five, it shouldn’t be this dark yet.”

“Maybe there’s a storm coming.” Betty glanced up at the darkening sky. “Hey! Oomph,” she grunted, running straight into the raven-haired teen. “What-,”

But Veronica hadn’t seemed to notice. She was stopped in front of a small storefront to their right, staring through the glass window into the interior of the shop. The display in front was wrapped in a red velvet lining with cauldrons, chests, and mannequins donned in costumes resting on top. There was a strobe light coming from somewhere behind one of the larger cauldrons, a cloud of white, wispy smoke rising from it. Cobwebs, spiders, and skeletons decorated the rest of the glass, and a sign in the corner of the window read, "Keep calm and carry a wand."

Betty roved her gaze up toward the black wooden sign hanging above the door, its hinges creaking in the wind.

“The Spell Nook,” Veronica read aloud, looking slightly enchanted by the mist and light swirling inside the store. “I’ve never seen this before. Must be one of those pop-up Halloween stores.”

Betty felt a cold prickle along the back of her neck. Pop-up stores usually occupied large lots left by vacated department stores, not small mom-and-pop shops. “Maybe,” she answered back, although something about it felt off. It gave off the sense that it was somehow _old_ , like it had stood there for hundreds of years, although after living in Riverdale her entire life, Betty knew this shop had never been here before.

Veronica grabbed Betty’s arm. “Come on, let’s check it out.”

“Uh, I don’t know,” Betty dragged her feet as Veronica pulled her forward. The wind continued to whip around them and Betty could have sworn she had just seen something fly overhead out of the corner of her eye. “We told the boys we’d meet them back in an hour-,”

“So we have plenty of time,” Veronica chirped, peering down at her watch. She continued to pull Betty forward. “Maybe we’ll get that inspiration for our costumes we’ve been looking for.”

Betty hesitated, looking to the left. The inviting glow of the pizza shop was only a few stores away. And then she looked right. People were still walking up and down the street under the warm lamplight, none of them looking concerned or troubled.

She must just be on edge because of the memories of her dad that had been on her mind lately. After all, it was still just a normal chilly, autumn night here in Riverdale. Birds twittered in a nearby tree, a pair of them flying out of the branches and she realized that must have been what she had seen. A couple walked out of the door of the Halloween store, smiling and laughing with a bag in hand.

“Alright,” she told Veronica, shaking her hand away from her arm to walk forward freely. There was still a slight nag in the back of her mind, and a few hairs were still raised on the back of her neck, but she shook it away, chalking up the Twilight Zone vibes she was getting to nerves and the underlying hum of caution that took up permanent residence in her mind after years of enduring one frightening experience after another. 

“But only for a few minutes.”

* * *

The inside of the shop was a larger version of the display window. The walls were a black and white pattern and the carpet matched the red velvet lining in the display case. Plastic Halloween decorations and costume accessories lined the walls, sporting everything as simple as candy buckets and masks to more elaborate and detailed items such as cowls, capes, and jewelry. There was a shelf of wands and scepters, of chalices and cauldrons, much like the one in the front window.

A row of glass cases lined the back wall, filled with books and crystal balls on sculpted metal stands. A few kids were hunched over what looked like birdbaths filled with different assortments of candy and cheap toys. Three boys were flinging rubber frogs back and forth and chasing each other down the rows of costumes in the middle of the store, their parents yelling in vain after them.

One brushed close to Veronica, and she scowled at him before turning back to the racks of clothes. Betty had moved toward the glass cases in the back, trying to examine the ornate bindings on some of the books.

The light was already dimmer than a normal store, in keeping with the spooky atmosphere of most Halloween stores, but the wispy smoke that she had seen brewing out of the cauldron from the front seemed to have permeated the entire store, causing a thin white mist to hang in the air resembling that of fog clinging to the grounds of a cemetery.

Betty bent down to get a closer look at a pair of identical books in particular. They were large with a shiny black and silver pattern twisting across the cover, like that of a Celtic knot, snaking and winding in a seamless array with no apparent beginning or end. In the middle of each was a gleaming green emerald, with the book clasp a brilliant deep purple.

She squinted at the cover of the book, the soft light revealing writing on parts of the silver strips. She panned her head, trying to read what it said, thinking it must be holographic as it kept slipping just out of view.

But when she moved her head, the writing didn't move with the light, instead, it looked like it-,. No that couldn’t be right. It couldn’t be _moving_.

She furrowed her brow and tilted her head again. Sure enough, what she thought had been the words slipping in and out of view wasn’t them disappearing at all, but rather the words writing themselves into the binding, sliding further along the metal as though an invisible hand was penning it.

It didn’t look English, and as she tried to make sense of the writing her vision got a bit blurry. She rubbed her eyes, but the fuzziness was still there. She looked around and realized that sensation wasn’t just with the book; no matter how hard she tried to focus on one thing, it was always slightly distorted.

The mist around her began to shimmer and a warm feeling washed over her.

Her head got heavy and lulled for a moment, and then suddenly, as quickly as it came, the feeling was gone.

The hum of the music playing in the shop came back to her ears, clear as day, as though she had just snapped out of shell shock. Betty gazed at the case, finding she had forgotten what she was even looking for.

She frowned and shook her head, picking herself up off the floor and straightening up, but almost immediately gasped and stumbled backward as she unexpectedly came face to face with a woman behind the counter.

Betty blinked, waiting for her pulse to return to normal. She could’ve sworn the woman had not been there a second before.

“Hello,” the woman said cheerfully. She was young and tall, her reddish-brown hair tucked neatly up into a pointed black witch’s hat. She wore a matching black gown with a dark green cowl flowing freely around her, fastened together over her shoulders with a sparkling green brooch.

“Do you need help finding anything?” The woman continued smiling at Betty.

“Oh.” Betty finally shook away the last of her stupor. “No. My friend and I are just browsing.” She bobbed her head back to where Veronica was still skimming through the costumes. The woman glanced at her but turned her attention back to Betty. “You’ve got a very nice shop here. Did you just move in?”

“Yes. Just opened a few days ago.” The woman spoke with a light accent. It sounded Scottish, but a bit of the inflections and rises were broken in places, as though she had neglected to speak the full dialect in quite some time. But her tone held the vocal remnants that told Betty that at one time it would have undoubtedly been her native tongue. “Just in time for the Halloween season.”

But her age did not match her voice.

“This is pretty elaborate for a pop-up shop,” Betty observed, an uneasy feeling beginning to creep its way through her again.

"Oh, this is not a pop-up shop, dear. I plan to be here all year round,” the woman chimed, “When it’s not near the season of Samhain, it will simply be a magic shop.”

“Oh,” Betty said a bit absently, still focused on the woman’s odd features. “Wait.” She had heard something a bit odd, though. “What’s that?”

“A magic shop?”

“No. Samhain. What’s that?” Betty felt as though she had heard that word before, but she couldn’t remember where.

The woman frowned at her. “I do not know what you are talking about, dear. All I said was that after the Halloween season, I would turn this into a magic shop.”

Betty scratched her head. “I could’ve sworn you said something else.” She shook her head. “Never mind. Well, you’ve got some very unique items here, especially the books.”

“Oh yes!” A deep admiration crossed the woman’s face as she looked down and stroked the top of the case above the twin tomes. Her eyes had moved away, but Betty still felt as though she could feel the calm yet piercing gaze. “Most of these have been in my family for generations and are mostly out as decorations. To give the shop a more authentic and antiquated look. Though I do let the occasional soul buy one from me if they are willing to pay the proper price.”

She lifted her head and Betty saw a strange glint overtake her eyes, one that made her begin to back away. The chill she had felt outside the store was running down her neck again and she thought it about time she and Veronica should leave.

“That’s very interesting.” Betty reached in her pocket and pulled out her phone, pretending to open a text. “Oh, uh, looks like I need to get going. Thanks for everything, Miss…” Betty found herself asking for the woman’s name.

“Ms. Aisling. But no need to be formal.” She smiled again and Betty nodded. She turned around, searching through the lingering smoke for Veronica. Once she spotted her, it was now her turn to grab Veronica by the arm and drag her toward the door, ignoring her small cries of protest.

“Oh, and Betty, dear,” Aisling called, her entrancing voice somehow still sounding crystal clear despite the music and mist. “Sorry you didn’t find what you were looking for. I do hope you and your friend come back again soon.”

Betty didn’t respond but simply continued to pull Veronica along.

She wanted so badly to get out of there that she never even stopped to think about the fact she had never given Aisling her name.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> One chapter done! Tell me what you think!
> 
> I don't expect this to be super long, probably ten chapters max.
> 
> I wanted to have a little fun writing and I've been watching far too many Halloween movies this month. Next chapter should be up in a day or two, hopefully. Leave a comment and a kudos if you like it!


	2. Ghost of a Chance

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks for the support so far! 
> 
> I love getting comments and feedback to know people are reading and to see what sticks out to everyone. What they notice, like, are looking forward to, etc., because everyone notices different things in the text and it's cool to see!
> 
> So here's Chapter 2, hope you enjoy!

As Archie and Jughead neared the edge of town, they came upon another fence, this time one built of chain-link that rose about ten feet high. Jughead made his way to the gate and knocked against it twice before unlatching the bolt and making his way inside, Archie following.

“Steve?” Jughead called, navigating his way through the scrap metal mountains that rose above them on either side. Car bumpers and tire rims stuck out at odd angles from the metallic heaps amid stray industrial and mechanical parts.

“Steve? It’s Jughead!” He called again into the rusty and barren junkyard. Archie tramped behind, gaping up at the towering piles of scrap.

They skirted one of the smaller mounds and came to a small office building near the edge of the yard, its peeling yellow paint glowing golden under the dying sunlight. They heard scratching and a dog bark and a few moments later a black and brown Rottweiler came barreling out of the screen door of the office. The dog yelped and wagged her stubby tail enthusiastically as she zoomed between the boys’ legs.

Jughead bent down and rubbed the dogs’ head, who immediately greeted him with eager licks to the face. “Hey girl, oh good girl.” Jughead sat on the ground, cooing affectionately even as the dog proceeded to slobber all over his beanie now that she could reach it.

Archie stooped down to pet the dog but heard clanging from the direction of the office and shot back up. Junkyard Steve clambered through the screen door, wiping the black grease off of his calloused hands with an already grimy cloth.

“Hey, Jonesy!” He bellowed, a black smudge in his white goatee waggling as his mouth upturned into a jovial grin. Despite Junkyard Steve’s rather gruff appearance, what with his muscular build and the constant layer of grime from working closely with his mechanical treasures, he was a rather good-natured guy.

His dad had told him stories about when he was younger and looking for his first car, Steve had sold him an old beater at a good price so he could fix it up with his dad. Archie had remembered that story and when he had decided to do the same, Steve had helped him pick out the jalopy.

“You got here just in time. I was closing up early tonight.” Steve slung the rag over his shoulder and adjusted his ball cap. “I’ve got the headlight you wanted in the office.” He turned his head toward Archie. “Hey, kid. Haven’t seen you in a while. How’s the car holdin’ up?”

“Still running, Steve. Though I do tend to drive the truck more these days.” Archie reached down and rubbed the dogs’ ears as she put her paws up on his leg.

Steve bobbed his head and turned back to Jughead. “If you want to follow me into the office, Jonesy, I’ll walk you through the installation instructions and you can be on your way-, hey!” Steve stepped forward and tried to shoo the dog away from Jughead, who was in a tug-of-war trying to get his beanie back. “Let it go, Scrappy, that’s not yours!”

“She’s fine, Steve,” Jughead smirked, getting back to his feet and pulling the crumpled hat away from the panting dog. “I don’t mind.” He brushed himself off and began to follow Steve toward the peeling yellow building but looked back as Archie snorted. “What?”

Archie had a goofy grin plastered on his face. “He named his dog Scrappy. The junkyard dog’s name is Scrappy.”

Jughead rolled his eyes but smiled as well. He kept walking, following Steve through the screen door, but turned around just before closing it. “You coming?” He called to Archie, who was still lingering out in the dusty yard.

“Nah,” Archie replied, “I’ll just hang out here until you’re done.”

“Alright.” Jughead nodded back casually, though his eyes betrayed that he was still a bit concerned for his friend. “Should only be a few minutes.”

He shut the door with a _clang_ , leaving Archie out in the metallic graveyard alone with the dog. He kicked around at a few loose pebbles in the patchy grass, listening for each small _tink_ as they hit their metal targets at the bottom of the giant piles of junk.

Scrappy whined next to him and lowered her head, pushing a muddy and scratched-up tennis ball toward his feet.

He bent down and grabbed the ball. “You want to play fetch?” Scrappy yipped happily, her tongue hanging out of her mouth as she danced excitedly on her paws. Are you even allowed to play fetch in here?” Archie glanced up at the door Steve and Jughead had disappeared through. He could see their outlines through the screen mesh.

Scrappy whined again and sat on her haunches, cocking her head and giving Archie an exceptionally adorable face. 

“Okay, fine.” Archie broke down, taking the tennis ball in his hand. Scrappy reminded him of Vegas. “You live here, I’m sure you know your way around all this dangerous stuff.” Archie raised a hand above his eye, trying to shield himself from the glaring light of the sun setting beyond the hills. He lobbed the tennis ball gently down a path relatively clear of loose debris. It landed a couple hundred yards away and bounced a few times before spinning behind one of the large piles of scrap metal. Scrappy bounded after it, vanishing around the corner as well.

Archie sighed, shaking out his jacket as he waited for the dog to bring the ball back. The cicadas and crickets had started up their evening song, their gentle hum swirling with the cascade of colors spreading across the evening sky.

It felt peaceful here at the edge of town. The junkyard was perched on a hill overlooking the valley that Riverdale was located in, Steve’s office standing like some sort of faded and forgotten watchtower above the town. It was a bit of an odd placement for a junkyard, but Riverdale was an odd town after all.

Archie walked closer to the fence that ran just along the curve of the high hill and peered over the tops of the trees descending down the slope into the valley. The cemetery sat at the bottom of the hill directly below him in the shadow of the valley. Continuing further down the valley, he could see the high school and the cleared, open area that was Pickens Park. He could even see the edges of the charred rafters at Thornhill, which is where Cheryl had decided to hold the Halloween party instead of her current residence of Thistle House.

He craned his neck, trying to see if he could spot his house. He could just make out the neon glow of the Pop’s sign down by the train tracks, so he moved his eyes north, but clouds were obscuring his view. He squinted; a thick, dark mass of what looked to be storm clouds was rapidly descending over the small town.

Archie looked up at the sky directly above the junkyard. It was growing darker, but he could still see streaks of pink and red from the setting sun. There was no cloud cover up here.

He frowned but quickly disregarded that detail as he heard a soft jingle and thumping, and turned to see Scrappy returning with the tennis ball in her mouth.

He stooped down and reached out his hand, the dog dropping the slobbery ball into it at once.

“Ah, yuck,” he whistled, feeling the mud and drool pool in his palm. He transferred the ball to his other hand, delicately holding it between his thumb and index finger, and wiped his hand on his pants.

Archie straightened back up, getting into position to throw again when he caught a glimpse of his hand and suddenly dropped the ball.

His breath spiked for a moment, and paused, trying to get his breathing to even back out. He closed his eyes, pulling in a shaky but deep breath, hoping what he had seen was just a trick of the light, one of those moments where you feel as though you’ve seen something odd but when you look back it was nothing, you brain just creating things that weren’t there because of stress.

But when he opened his eyes and looked at his hand, it was still undoubtedly glowing.

Archie pulled in another breath and cautiously and lightly dragged a finger against his palm. A small line formed as he pushed through the thin green film covering his hand. He looked down at his pants, his blue jeans dotted with glowing green patches where he had wiped off his hand earlier. He crinkled his brow and stooped to the ground, rubbing his hand through one of the small patches of grass sprinkled throughout the yard, trying to get the glowing muck off.

He shuffled to where he had dropped the ball and sure enough, it was covered in the glowing stuff. He crinkled his brow, trying to get a better look without getting too close.

It reminded him of algae, but was a much more brilliant green, shining fluorescent against the silver metal fragments that surrounded him. He knew that Junkyard Steve occasionally dredged the swamp in town for parts. Could this be some leftover muck from that?

But that just made Archie think about all the movies he had seen where the water had turned out to be radioactive.

He looked toward Scrappy, who was sitting patiently a few yards away. Archie could see a few bright speckles on her fur as well.

“Where’d you find this, girl?” He spoke in a tender tone toward the dog, getting up and rolling the ball with his foot. Archie figured he should try to figure out what it was and where it was coming from so he could tell Steve. “Can you show me where you got this?”

Scrappy yipped happily and began waddling toward the edge of the mound of metal that Archie had seen the ball disappear behind when he had thrown it earlier. She stopped and looked back as though to make sure Archie was following and then bounded around the corner.

Archie jogged after her through the junkyard, passing a line of battered trucks and cars. Maybe it was battery acid. He suddenly started to get worried, hoping that he hadn’t accidentally gotten the dog sick. When he looked back ahead, Scrappy had stopped just beyond the row and was sitting in front of a stack of wooden pallets, staring calmly back at him.

Archie slowed and bent down beside the dog. She was sitting next to a small puddle of the same glowing substance. As Archie stared at it, a drop came splashing down into it and he looked up. There was a faint sliver of the goo running down the side of the wood pallets. He followed the stream with his eyes, up, up to the top of the stack until he found the source.

There was a small dribble running out of what looked like the black hose of a vacuum cleaner, but skinnier. His eyes continued further along the tube, tracing its path until his eyes came upon what it was attached to and-

“Woah,” he said, his eyes growing large, his unease disappearing as he saw the full contraption the tube was attached to.

“Archie?” He heard Jughead calling in the distance.

“I’m over here!” He shouted back, not moving his eyes away from the black mass sitting on top of the pallets. Scrappy barked in response too.

He heard rustling and footsteps and soon Jughead and Steve were walking up the row of cars toward where Archie was standing.

“Hey, you ready to go?” Jughead approached Archie, the small box with his headlight tucked under his arm. Archie was still staring forward. “You okay? What-,” Jughead looked at where Archie was staring and stopped. “Woah. Are those what I think they are?”

Jughead bent down, inspecting the four large devices huddled in front of them. “Steve, where did you get these?”

There was no answer.

“Steve?” Archie repeated Jughead’s question, finally turning away. Steve was staring apprehensively through the fence toward the mass of clouds gathering over the town. Archie walked over and tapped on his shoulder. “Steve?”

Steve bucked his head. “What? Oh, sorry, kid.” He glanced back at the sky once more and walked to where Archie was pointing back at the wood pallets.

“Steve, where did you get these?”

“Ah, those. Some movie producers came down from the city looking to scrap some old cars, said they were cleaning out the lots. I found those stashed in the trunk of one of the cars.”

“No way.” Jughead rose to his feet. “These are legit movie props?”

“Seems so.” Steve was still glancing back at the dark clouds as he spoke.

“There’s some green stuff leaking out of them,” Archie remembered. “Your dog got some in her mouth.”

“Oh.” Steve looked down at Scrappy, who in turn stared back up at him. “She’ll be okay. It’s probably just some of that juice they use for special effects leftover. That stuffs usually non-toxic.” 

Steve looked back at the clouds and downtown again, agitation etched in his features. But then he suddenly looked at Archie and Jughead inquisitively, as though he were trying to put something together in his head. 

“Say, would you boys want ‘em? They won’t do much good just sitting here rotting in my yard.”

Archie and Jughead looked at the contraptions, then looked at each other. Jughead straightened up from where he had been bending down next to the pallets.

“How much?”

“Oh, take ‘em for free.” Steve was looking down at Scrappy as she walked to his feet and sat back down. “Let’s call it a Halloween special.”

Archie and Jughead looked at each other again, smiles developing on their faces. Archie reached out and grabbed one of the devices, slinging it over his back.

“Jug, I think we just solved our costume problem.”

* * *

The machine dropped with a heavy _thud_ onto the coffee table in the garage, rattling the two pizza boxes lying next to it.

From the couch, Betty and Veronica peered up at Archie around the sides of it, their eyebrows upturned in skepticism.

“Ghostbusters? Are you serious?” Veronica looked up at her boyfriend with a mixture of disappointment and amusement.

Archie nodded, a playful smile on his face. “Dead serious.”

“You went from wanting us to be actual cartoon characters for Halloween to wanting to be the live-action version of said cartoon characters.”

“Look,” Archie began, trying to sell his pitch. “You said inspiration would find us when we least expect it, and who would expect that we would come across the authentic proton packs from the movies?” Archie slapped the black metal box on the table. “Junkyard Steve had all four and he didn’t even charge us for them. I say that’s a sign.”

“Or an omen,” Betty murmured under her breath.

“What?” Archie raised an eyebrow.

“Don’t mind her,” Veronica retorted, throwing a chiding frown at Betty. “She’s just been feeling overly superstitious since we went downtown.”

“That store was not normal!” Betty chafed, shifting her position so she could lean an elbow on the top of the couch.

“What store?” Jughead asked, opening up the closest pizza box and pulling out a slice, the cheese still stringy and oozing off of the sides. He stuffed the slice into his mouth, positioning himself on the armrest of the couch next to Betty, slinging an arm over her.

“There was this Halloween store on the way to the pizza place,” Veronica explained. “We stopped in to browse but _someone_ rushed us out of there in a panic.”

“That woman, Aisling,” Betty contested, her ponytail bouncing as she talked back with her hands. “You didn’t talk to her, V, but there was definitely something off.”

“Oh, another mystery?” Jughead joined in through a mouthful of pizza. “And on the eve of Halloween night? How intriguing.”

“Hey, guys, come on,” Archie puffed, leaning on top of the proton pack. “No detective stuff right now.”

“Ah, come on, Archie,” Jughead swallowed and reached for another piece. “It’s in our blood to be suspicious and be drawn to the unknown.”

Jughead smirked and looked up. Archie was sending him an unamused pout, Veronica doing much of the same.

“Okay, fine.” He leaned back. “It’s in our blood at least.” He gestured between himself and Betty.

Archie ran a hand through his hair. “Can’t we focus on having fun? Just for one weekend?”

Betty and Jughead glanced at each other than Betty turned back to Archie and nodded. “Okay,” she sighed, slightly shaking her head before reaching forward toward the pizza boxes. “No business this weekend, just fun.”

“Besides-,” Betty continued, stacking two slices of pepperoni onto her plate. “She said she’d be sticking around past Halloween, so I’m sure there will be plenty of time to investigate.”

“Good.” Archie grinned. “Because we need to get to work on putting together our costumes.”

“Are we really doing this?” Veronica leaned forward, still eyeing the pack with an air of scrutiny. 

“Junkyard Steve said he could get us jumpsuits. We just need to make patches and belts and figure out how to wear these properly.” Archie patted the top of the proton pack before straightening up. “They’ll actually look really professional and not like home-made costumes.” He turned his gaze toward everyone in the garage. "So, all those in favor of being a Ghostbuster?”

"I'm in," Jughead stated, pulling a handful of sodas out of the fridge, passing one out to everyone.

“Yeah, me too.” Betty agreed, leaning her head back against Jughead as he settled himself back on the arm of the couch. He popped open his second can of the day.

Archie bounced on his feet, his smile growing. He turned to Veronica.

She sat in a thoughtful posture, flicking her eyes toward Betty and Jughead, who were both now staring back at her as well. And then she turned back to Archie and sighed. “Alright, yeah, let’s do it.” She reached for a pizza box. “But I call Venkman.”

“Yes.” Archie fist-pumped the air, plopping himself down into the recliner. “This is going to be good.”

“A toast then,” Veronica said, lifting her pop can into the air and holding it out in front of her. “To our last Halloween together.”

The others smiled, all grabbing their respective cans and lifting them to join Veronica’s salute.

“To our last Halloween together.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Something mysterious is afoot in Riverdale. Will the weekend just be fun? 
> 
> You'll have to wait until I post more to find out. New chapters will be posted every few days.
> 
> As always, leave a comment and/or kudos if you'd like. I love getting feedback!
> 
> And Happy Halloween everyone!


	3. Bad Moon Rising

The world was quiet.

A stream of brilliant moonlight stretched across a clear forest path, its spectral gleam shimmering through a curtain of fog that rolled down the expanse of pathway. It hung in the air, silent and still, an ethereal breath frozen in the night.

The leaves in the trees sat motionless on their branches, no breeze nor beast around to make a sound; no soul in sight to wake the night from its phantom slumber.

That is, no soul but one.

Tendrils of fog churned and scattered in the wake of quiet footsteps advancing slowly down the dark, lonely road. The echoes of a quickened heartbeat pulsed hollow, bouncing thunderously back to the one they belonged to.

Betty exhaled slowly, her breath swirling white puffs in front of her face. She walked barefoot across the soft forest floor. She could feel the cold earth brushing up against her feet but it didn’t bother her; it felt natural, almost comfortable, and if there were rocks and twigs underfoot, she was unaware of them. Her feet carried her forward steadily as though she had walked this path a hundred times before.

Her eyes wondered at the motionless scene around her as she found her way through the thick curtain of fog blanketing the ground. Dewdrops shone and sparkled all around her, glistening from the bark on the trees and the green of the grass, but the most dazzling ones hung in the air itself, a chandelier of tiny crystals enveloping her.

She reached a hand out, gently extending it towards one of the crystal drops. When she touched it she let out a gasp and almost retracted her hand when, to her surprise, the drop didn’t burst but instead stuck to her skin. Betty lifted her hand closer to her face, awestruck at the dewdrop so delicately suspended in her touch. Awestruck at the peculiar but calming scene suspended all around her.

She wondered if she should be worried about being this far into the woods this late at night; she was only in her pajamas after all. But another part of her urged her to keep going, that this was somehow important, that this was where she needed to be. She gently tossed the drop from her hand and it floated back into place, as though it had never been touched in the first place, and she continued on.

There was a rustling in the trees and a soft tug blew around the sweater Betty wore, signaling a breeze had finally broken through the still of the night. She turned her head upward, looking at the cloudless sky above. The moon hung clear and full, the silver orb otherworldly close as it filled a majority of the sky. The faint wind brushed past her, carrying with it the smell of fresh earth and smokey wood. With her head to the sky, Betty drank in a lungful of the wafting aroma and closed her eyes, listening to the leaves and branches continue to rustle and blow, their sounds reminding her of the crinkling pages of an old and dusty library book.

She continued on.

Betty didn’t know how or why, but she felt connected to everything, as though she were an extension of the nature that surrounded her, or perhaps it of her. A timeless hum, a recurrent pulse beat through the forest and through her, a tingle of electricity rippling through her from her fingertips to her toes. She felt as still and as calm as the nightly scene around her.

And that was a feeling she thought was all but forgotten.

She felt at peace, as though all was right with the world, as though she had never been touched by any of the death and despair that had continuously marked her life.

As she walked further and further down the path, the fog began to give way, revealing more of the darkened foliage that lined the path. Betty opened her arms, spreading her hands through the undergrowth and brush, the greenery bowing before her touch. The breeze danced gracefully around her, the palliative rustles of the foliage now being joined by something else floating through the night.

A whisper, soft and low, was calling out from somewhere in the mist and shadow in front of her. She turned her head, listening closer.

It was melodic, a mumbled verse that warbled and trilled, yet the voice was clear; smooth, and pleasant. A language no tongue knew wrapped itself around her, drawing her forward, toward a clearing in the fog and forest.

It was entrancing, this disembodied song on the wind, stirring something inside of Betty; something that had laid dormant that now longed, yearned to be awakened.

The song swirled around her like the fog, pulling her deeper and deeper through the woods. A clearing was opening up and in the middle of it stood a figure, their dark silhouette emblazoned against the bright behemoth of the moon behind them.

Her head began to lull as she drew closer, the melody growing louder in her ears with each new step, its chorus cradling her like a newborn being swaddled in a warm cloth.

The figure appeared to be floating as a dark fabric like a cloak billowed and curled around it. It drifted closer and outstretched an arm toward Betty, beckoning her forward. The stir inside her deepened. The fragrant aroma from before filled her nose again and this time her eyes grew heavy with it. And a smile, a small smile, formed of its own accord on her face.

Betty took a step closer and raised a hand back.

But then something began to pull her back.

Another noise was rising in the back of her head, an explosion of panicked “ _no’s_!” fighting against the soft song. She stopped dead in her tracks, the cold of the ground finally finding her feet. She inhaled sharply, her mind snapping and her eyes becoming clear.

It was hers. The voice yelling in the back of her head was her own.

It was telling her to turn back, to run, that this was wrong.

She looked forward toward the silhouette. The yearning in her still wanted to move closer toward it, but the noise in her head was keeping her at a standstill. As it continued to fight, the song started to morph; no longer was it a mesmerizing hum but now an agitated hiss.

Her voice was winning and the figure retracted its hand, beginning to draw back into the shadows. As it did the fog lifted, the wind whipped and the moon began to shrink. The peace she had felt was draining and her heart was quickening, and to Betty, the world was suddenly growing cold and empty.

The figure gave one last howling shriek as it skulked away into the growing shadows, one last soft hiss-like chant on its lips before the light disappeared. And then Betty fell into darkness.

“No!”

The cry escaped Betty’s lips as she shot upward, her eyes flying open in the dark. Her heart was pounding, her forehead laced with sweat. She blinked and felt at the soft fabric underneath her, finding her limbs twisted up in the sheets. She inhaled shaking breaths, looking around at the furniture of her bedroom bathed silver and blue in the scattered moonlight.

It had been a dream.

Betty exhaled, falling exasperatedly back against the pillows. She ran a hand over her face. Though it was unlike any dream she had experienced before. She could still feel a lingering of that strange pull, an afterimage in her bones of the deep yearning that had called to her.

She swallowed, trying to reset her breathing back to a normal pace. Small ticks echoed through the room as the hands on her alarm clock beat steadily in the dark. She turned her head, the red glare of _3:00 am_ staring back at her.

She shuddered, throwing the covers away, and sat upright on the edge of the bed, rubbing her arms in an attempt to shake the strange feeling that was still gripping her. She was surprised to find her mouth moving, her tongue twisting a phrase over and over in a silent whisper. She grabbed at her nightstand through the dark, finding a pen and piece of paper.

She clicked on a lamp and scribbled down the phrase down to the best of her ability, raising the piece of paper to her face as she finished, staring at the scrawled words.

_“Thig mo phàiste”_

The words flowed naturally off her tongue but Betty furrowed her brow. She had no idea what it meant, or how she even know how to write, let alone, pronounce it. She didn’t even know what language it was, but she knew this is what the figure had uttered as her dream had fallen away.

She frowned, sighing a heavy sigh as she placed the scrap of paper back down on the nightstand and massaged her forehead.

First her nerves had flared up at that Halloween store and now she was having nightmares in other languages; either the holiday was severely messing with her anxiety or this time she was actually going crazy.

She shook her head. Hopefully it wasn’t the latter.

A tapping sounded through her room and Betty jumped, whipping her head toward the sound. A tree branch was scrapping against her bedroom window in the wind, its shadow looming over the room like gnarled claws.

She stood on slightly wobbly legs, making her way to the window. Through the branches, Betty could see the moon hanging in the sky, obscured by a mass of gray clouds passing in front of it. It was definitely its normal size, and there was no fog or mist anywhere in sight, no cloud of suspended dew drops, and no shadowy silhouettes thankfully.

A tingle ran down her spine and she moved her eyes away nonetheless, traces of the phantom pull still clawing at her skin.

She reached for a sweatshirt from the dresser underneath the window and as she did, noticed an orange glow out of the corner of her eye. She looked back out in the direction of the Andrews’ house and saw that their garage was wide open, the light from the orange work lamps spilling out into the yard and beyond.

Betty leaned forward against the window sill. Sitting outside of the open doors was Archie’s jalopy, its rust-colored frame burning bright under the glow of the lights. And sitting slumped in the driver’s seat, a blanket wrapped messily around his shoulders, was Archie.

Betty frowned and finished pulling the sweatshirt over her head.

Looks like she wasn’t the only one having a rough night.

* * *

A lazy hum buzzed out from the garage, the space heaters pumping against the cold wind that whistled outside the open doors. Warm lamplight bathed the strip of the driveway where the jalopy sat, Archie with it.

His feet knocked against the dash, rocking the wool blanket that covered his t-shirt and pajama pants. He cradled his head in one hand, his elbow leaned up against the driver's side door. In his other hand, he held a slightly frayed photograph.

Archie twirled the picture slowly, his eyes staring blankly ahead into the night.

"Is this seat taken?"

He jumped, swinging his head in the direction of the voice. Betty was walking up to the car, her hair up in a messy bun, the rest of her looking a bit tousled as well.

Archie pulled his feet off the dash and sat up. “Nope,” he yawned, rubbing a hand over his eyes. “All yours.” He reached across the seats and pushed open the door. Betty climbed inside and sat down in the passenger seat, burying her hands deep into her pockets. “What are you doing up?”

“Bad dream.” Betty grimaced. “Weird dream.” She shook her head. “I wasn’t getting back to sleep any time soon.” She looked at Archie. “What about you?”

Archie snorted and crossed his arms, a dark smile crossing his face. “I never even made it to sleep in the first place. I’ve been out here most of the night.”

Betty shot him a concerned glance. "Do you want to go inside? It's a lot warmer there."

Archie swallowed and looked down. “A lot emptier too.”

He looked over at Betty, who gave him a sad but understanding nod. They both turned forward to stare out the front windshield. Archie listened to the homey buzz of the heaters and the wind continue to blow around the car, the photograph still clenched tightly in his hand.

“I just feel closer to him out here, you know?” Archie continued after a few quiet minutes. “He taught me to play catch in the backyard, soundproofed the garage, and we even fixed up this car together.”

Betty flashed him a smile, drawing her legs up and sitting crisscross on the seat. “I know. I helped.”

Archie glanced at her. “Oh yeah,” he chuckled. “I guess you did.”

Betty chuckled along with him before the two grew silent again. Some cicadas and an owl had joined in with the noise surrounding them in the night. The trees in Archie’s yard rustled and cracked, a few leaves twirling down through the haze of the work lights to the ground below.

“It hurts more, doesn’t it?” Betty eventually asked. “This being the first holiday without him?”

Archie’s mouth twitched and he nodded. “Everything keeps reminding me of him.” He sniffed and scratched his head. “I didn’t think I would feel much until Thanksgiving but it’s so weird - things I’ve never given a second thought to are now all I think about.” He paused. “The smell of the leaves and wood, the jack o’ lanterns - heck, I even felt like crying the other day when I saw a plastic pumpkin because it made me think of trick-or-treating with my dad as a kid.”

He bobbed his head and sighed, turning toward Betty, but when he did his face dropped. A solemn look had overtaken Betty’s eyes, giving them a bit of a hollow appearance. Another gust of wind blustered around the car and Archie noticed Betty shiver out of the corner of his eye. He pulled the blanket away from his shoulders and held it out to her.

When Betty noticed she shook a hand, pushing the blanket back in his direction. “No, keep it,” she said softly. “I’m not cold.”

Archie hesitated but eventually nodded, pulling the blanket back around his arms. He tapped the photo in his palm and glanced at Betty again, wrinkling his brow. “Is it your dad?”

“What?” Betty swung her head.

“The dream that woke you up.” Archie turned to look at her. “Was it about your dad?”

“Oh.” Betty pushed against the bottom of the seat, straightening herself up. “No.” She shook her head. “Not tonight, anyway.”

Archie felt a knot form in his stomach and lowered his head. “I’m sorry.”

“There’s nothing you can do about it, Arch.” Betty looked down as well, toying with the strings on her hoodie. “He… he brought it on himself.”

“No.” Archie shook his head. “Not about him dying. Well-,” he ran a hand through his hair, deciding to add to that answer after seeing Betty recoil slightly. “I _am_ sorry about that, but that’s not what I’m talking about.” He angled himself in her direction. “I mean, I’m sorry that everyone keeps forgetting that you lost a parent too.”

Betty froze, the strings caught in between her unmoving fingers. She remained silent, staring at the floor of the jalopy. When she did eventually turn her head towards Archie, her eyes had turned misty. Archie gave her an empathetic smile.

He waited but she didn’t say anything more. Archie cleared his throat and slid back down in his seat, pulling the blanket in tighter around him. He lifted his hand, bringing the worn photo back into his view. The edge of his mouth curled ever so slightly.

“That’s a great picture.”

Betty was leaning over, staring at the photo in his hand. She wiped an eye, a small smile on her face now. “You both look so happy.”

“Yeah,” Archie smiled, handing it to her. “It’s from the night of the variety show. It’s when he first got to see me play.”

“I remember that night.” Betty bounced in her seat, adjusting her position to hold the photo between the two of them. “I missed the show because I was with Jughead tracking down Jason’s car.” Betty paused and bobbed her head. “Which then got torched by Jughead’s dad.”

“And then we watched a video from a secret flash drive that we found in a stolen jacket and helped solve a murder,” Archie sighed darkly. Both he and Betty turned their heads toward the open garage, sharing in the same lonely memory.

Betty sighed. “Remember when that was the weirdest thing that ever happened to us?” She asked in what to Archie sounded like a wistful manner.

Which he couldn’t blame her for.

“Yeah.” Archie took the picture back, placing it on the top of the dash, letting out a sigh of his own. “Back when the hardest part of my life was deciding between music and football.”

“And I wasn’t wasting tears on a serial killer,” Betty quietly begrudged. She stared up into the sky at the full moon floating overhead, a sullen grumble escaping her lips. “At least I never have to see him again.”

Archie looked up as well and then back down at the photo, the swell of moonlight washing the image blue. His eyes lingered on Fred’s smile. His big, proud smile. He couldn’t say he felt the same about his own dad. He wanted more than anything to see him again.

"I'm sorry about your dad too, Arch," Betty said, shoving her hands back into her pockets. “He was the best.”

“Yeah.” Archie breathed quietly, his gaze going back up toward the moon. “He was.” An owl hooted softly above them, the rustle of the branch it rested on echoing into the night.

“You know in a lot of ways he was your dad too,” Archie began. “Maybe if you feel like crying again, tell yourself it’s for him.” He dropped his head, looking back at Betty. “That way your tears won’t feel wasted.”

Betty’s mouth trembled. “Thanks, Arch.” She turned to look at him, wiping her eyes. “And here I thought I’d be the one helping you tonight.”

Archie smiled. “Don’t worry-,” he reached forward, grabbing the photograph off the dash before peering back up at the full moon. “You did.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Another one down! Thought I'd get this one out earlier, but I'm in the beginning phases of a move, so my time is a little scattering. I hope to try to update once a week though, but don't hold me to that.
> 
> This story was originally supposed to be a short one-shot but fantasy is my favorite genre and now I have a feeling this story is getting away from me and is going to be longer and a bit more in-depth than I originally intended. But that's part of the fun of writing!
> 
> Anyway, happy reading! And if I don't get the next chapter out before then, have a Happy Thanksgiving if you celebrate that here in the States.


End file.
